Waking
by Agent Otter
Summary: Sometimes when the team returns home, something of the mission remains with them. (JackDaniel)


Title: Waking  
  
Author: Otter  
  
Date: 12/13/2003  
  
Email: otter@fadedpress.com  
  
Website: http://www.fadedpress.com  
  
Rating: R  
  
Pairing: Jack/Daniel  
  
Category: Episode Related, Friendship  
  
Season/Episode: "Beneath the Surface"  
  
Spoilers: Not really.  
  
Warnings: There's a bit of Het here, but it's all incidental.  
  
Summary: Sometimes the mission doesn't end when the team returns home.  
  
Notes: My thanks to Salieri, who provided many of the essentials, including inspiration, editing, and gthe occasional grammar lesson. Thanks also to the many folks who've sent feedback on my stories so far.  
  
WAKING  
  
by Otter  
  
Daniel woke, suddenly and completely, at 11:13. He rolled over, squirmed himself into a more comfortable position, burrowed just a little deeper into his body-warmed sheets, and spent the next half-hour completely failing to get back to sleep.  
  
Finally, he hauled himself out of his cocoon and into the night-time chill of his bedroom, dashed to the closet and swiftly tugged on a pair of jeans. They hung on his hips, and he thought with some consternation that he must've lost weight. So he selected a sweater carefully; specifically chose a long, heavy one that would hide the low-slung waist of his pants. He made a mental note as he pulled on his sneakers: Buy new jeans. Or -- even better plan -- eat more pie.  
  
The streets were deserted and still, as if the world had been put on pause and was waiting patiently for its human wards to wake up so it could resume business as usual. It reminded him of Argos, and he thought about Jack, wearing nothing but a sheet and crashing like a narcoleptic. The thought made him smile, but not because he'd been enjoying himself at the time.  
  
At the house, there were lights glowing from the left side, where the kitchen was. Daniel snapped off his headlights so they wouldn't shine through anyone's windows, and parked behind the increasingly familiar sedan sedan at the curb. He avoided the front door and circled around to the kitchen, his knuckles tapping lightly against the wood, mindful of waking this world's Argosians. He thought that if some Goa'uld out there had taken up the mantle of Hypnos, god of sleep, it had already conquered Colorado Springs. Only a few errant members of SG-1 stood in the path of total domination. As usual.  
  
The door swung open, and he stepped inside with a sheepish smile, closing the door behind him. The kitchen didn't smell of coffee today; the scent on the air was spiced and heavy instead, and it reminded him of places that were half a world and half a lifetime away.  
  
Sam handed him a mug, and they took their usual seats on opposite sides of the island counter, perched on stools, sipping at their drinks moodily as if they were pondering the deep mysteries of the universe.  
  
"Thanks for the tea," Sam said. "It's really good, even if it doesn't help me sleep like it's supposed to."  
  
Daniel nodded, and a smile flickered on his lips, and then it was gone. "How are things going?" he asked. "With Jeremy, I mean."  
  
Sam's eyes flickered to the right -- toward the bedroom at the back of the house. "Okay," she said. "I mean, he... I... we're trying to make it work, but it's tough. That I can't tell him things."  
  
Daniel sloshed the remains of his tea around and around inside the mug, ostensibly to keep the temperature and flavor steady with the stirring, but mostly to have something to do with his hands.  
  
"Of course," Sam said, "there are things he can't tell me, either. Confidentiality, trade secrets, that sort of thing. But he doesn't disappear for weeks and come back all... weird."  
  
Daniel thought that she'd started out weird and Jeremy probably found that attractive, but he didn't say it out loud. Instead he nodded sagely, all sympathetic understanding, and said, "Like waking up at the same time every night and experiencing a strong desire to shovel?"  
  
He surprised a laugh out of her, but then she clapped a hand over her mouth, rolling mindful eyes toward the bedroom again, and contained her snickers until they died away. "We'll get back to our regular sleep patterns again," she said, with one final chuckle for good measure. "Janet says it would help if we'd stay awake straight through and then go to bed at our normal time, but--"  
  
"I fall asleep on my desk in the afternoon," Daniel finished, with a sigh. "Yeah."  
  
"We need the time, anyway," Sam pointed out. "To get our heads on straight. It's nice to be at home and on stand-down."  
  
Daniel bobbed his head in agreement and sipped at the last of his tea. The mug retained a last trace of lingering heat, so he cradled it between his palms and stared down at the ring of residual moisture in the bottom of the cup. "I'd settle for just feeling warm again," he said.  
  
"We got used to sleeping next to the furnaces," she agreed. "It's nice to be able to shower regularly, though."  
  
He smiled, she smiled, and then Jeremy shuffled in from the hallway, bleary-eyed and spiky-haired, wearing nothing but boxers. He ran a hand through his hair, disrupting it just a little further, and ambled toward the sink.  
  
"Hi, Daniel," he mumbled, still not entirely awake.  
  
"Hey, Jeremy," Daniel answered. "How's it going?"  
  
Jeremy shrugged, poured himself a glass of water and slugged it back in a single go. "I'm involved with a goddamn insomniac," he rumbled, with a good-natured and lopsided grin.  
  
Sam was smiling back. Beaming, really. And flushing, very slowly, when Jeremy stared at her. Daniel made a disgusted noise, released his mug, and abandoned his stool.  
  
"I'm gonna go over to Jack's," he said. "I'm sure you kids will think of something to occupy yourselves in my absence."  
  
Jeremy's smile widened, and he sidled up next to Sam, took her hand and urged her away from her empty mug, too. "G'night, Daniel," he said.  
  
"See you tomorrow," Sam said.  
  
"Yeah, yeah," Daniel muttered, and pulled a face at her as he closed the door.  
  
It seemed even colder outside now than it had been before. Inside the car it was positively arctic, and he shivered all the way to Jack's house, because the short trip didn't give the engine time to warm up enough to use the heater.  
  
At Jack's, there were lights blazing in nearly every window, but when he knocked, he had to stand on the stoop and let his teeth chatter for awhile before Jack appeared and let him in. The blast of heat when he stepped into the house was enough to make up for this mistreatment, and Jack cemented his good mood by handing over a fresh cup of coffee.  
  
"You're early," Jack said, as he strode off purposefully toward the living room.  
  
Daniel strolled along behind, and said, "Sam had company. I thought I'd get out before I saw more than I wanted to see."  
  
Jack laughed, stooped to pick up a power drill from where he'd left it on the floor, and returned to what he'd been doing before Daniel had arrived. He seemed to be hanging speakers in the corners of the room. Daniel had a sneaking suspicion that the next hockey game they watched together would bring every crunch of bone into the room in glorious surround-sound.  
  
"Besides," Daniel said, "yesterday there was a leak in the piping underneath my bathroom sink."  
  
The look Jack gave him clearly labeled that comment as a non-sequitur.  
  
"It played right in to my compulsion to fix something," Daniel expounded. "So I spent a good hour tinkering with it. Granted, it wasn't a steam vent or a pressure valve, but I felt right at home doing it." He frowned, and said, "I used to have to call the super for that stuff. Would we call that an up side?"  
  
Jack shrugged and turned back to his speaker, applied the drill with a flourish, and stepped back to proudly survey his work. "I guess all we need to do is get drafted into a few more alien labor camps," he drawled, "and you'll be able to start moonlighting as a handyman."  
  
Daniel snorted, and thought that maybe if his pants got any looser he could do the role some justice. The couch looked particularly inviting, so Daniel flopped onto it, sprawled out all over the cushions. Jack neatly packed his tools away, stretching out the moment as if dreading having to think of something else to do.  
  
"What's with all the candles?" Daniel hollered, when Jack had retreated to the hall closet to put the toolbox back. He stretched out one arm toward the end table, snagging one of the thick amber-colored candles that sat there, a match for the others that were scattered on various flat surfaces around the room. The wick was scorched, but there was only a small dent in the wax, so it hadn't been burned very long.  
  
"They're from Teal'c," Jack hollered back. "He said if I couldn't sleep, I should meditate." He wandered back into the room and lowered his voice to a normal volume again. "But then, he still thinks I should shave my head. So, needless to say, I don't find his advice to be one hundred percent reliable."  
  
Daniel snorted and put the candle back, moving his feet so Jack could sit down next to him on the couch.  
  
"You know," Jack said, "down in the furnaces, we'd be getting our first meal break right about now."  
  
Daniel stared at the ceiling and made a little "hmm" noise that might've been agreement. He didn't answer for a long time, and then he said, very quietly, "It doesn't matter. We're home now."  
  
Jack "hmm"'ed back, and said, "Right."  
  
"Except that sometimes I can't remember Daniel Jackson at all."  
  
"Exactly." Jack let out a huff of breath that might've been a sigh, or possibly an aborted growl. "But," he said, and paused for a suspiciously long time, "I remember Carlin."  
  
His hand started on Daniel's knee, squeezed a little, and then smoothly slid upward, to warm the inside of Daniel's thigh. Daniel eyed up the ceiling for a moment longer, then let his leg fall off to the side, inviting Jack -- Jonah -- in.  
  
Jonah's mouth was as hot as he remembered, his body as heavy and hard, hands as demanding. He pinned Carlin to the couch, pressing the younger man down under his weight.  
  
Carlin gasped and turned his head to one side, offering no complaints when Jonah took advantage of the situation and bit his neck hard enough to sting. "They gave you a... ahh," he stuttered out, having a hard time finishing his sentence. "They gave you a stupid name."  
  
Jonah drew away far enough to display his scowl, then dived back in and slipped his hands underneath Carlin's sweater. "Explain, if you dare," he panted, against Carlin's ear.  
  
"'Jonah' is Hebrew," Carlin said. There was only a slight hitch in his voice, when Jonah ground their pelvises together. "It means 'a dove'."  
  
Jonah said, "Hmmm," and Carlin felt it as a vibration against his nipple, which Jonah was industriously licking at. "That is a little inappropriate for my personal character," Jonah agreed, and applied himself to unbuttoning Carlin's jeans, making an approving noise when he found nothing underneath. "I'm more of a dog person. So what does 'Carlin' mean?"  
  
He managed to get out, "Little," before Jonah reached a hand into his pants and freed his swelling cock for him. Carlin interrupted himself and gasped, "Oh, God. Shit! Ooooh, Jesus," before he finally caught his breath to answer, "'Little champion.'"  
  
Jonah laughed, circled him with one rough, wonderful hand, stroked hard, and said, "Yeah, it certainly is."  
  
"Asshole," Carlin snarled, arching his hips up and seeking greater contact.  
  
"Is that a request?" Jonah replied. "You know, I don't remember you talking so much before. There was a lot of snarling, to my recollection. And biting. And the only talking was incredibly dirty."  
  
"And you weren't such a goddamn sap," Carlin answered, with an obliging snarl. "Though I do distinctly recall some begging..."  
  
"Must've been you," Jonah sniffed.  
  
"Yeah, right," said Carlin, scoffing and groping at the same time. "I believe your exact words were, 'Oh fuck yes, Carlin, please, harder, harder.'"  
  
Jonah made a great show of thinking -- and demonstrated his finely-honed multitasking skills by performing some skillful frottage at the same time -- and then admitted, "I may have said that."  
  
"You did!" Carlin crowed, squirming. He buried his fingers in short-cropped gray hair and retaliated by nipping at the nearest available flesh, which happened to be Jonah's bicep.  
  
"You were such an aggressive little shit," Jonah said fondly. "I always knew you had it in you. With the proper incentive--"  
  
Carlin shut him up with a kiss, and got on with the snarling, biting, and very occasionally, begging. When they had finally stilled and their racing hearts began to slow, and the air between them was hot, sticky and satisfying, Jonah said, "Sometimes I feel sorry for that son of a bitch O'Neill. He doesn't get to do this."  
  
Carlin laughed against his neck, then granted that flesh a long, leisurely lick as a bonus. Jonah's skin tasted like it had in countless dark corners and dirty cubbyholes where they'd done this before, but it had all been faster then: harsh, rough, and frantic. But that had been before. They weren't the same men now; they were caught somewhere in between.  
  
Daniel said, "What're you, five? Carlin and Jonah aren't real. That son of a bitch O'Neill just got incredibly lucky."  
  
Jack stared, stone-faced, long enough to make Daniel start to squirm, and then he scrambled up from the couch with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a whoop, and sprinted toward the bedroom. His voice drifted back in his wake, promising, "Last one in bed gives the first blow job!"  
  
Daniel smiled, shucked off his slightly soiled sweater, and took his sweet time walking down the hallway.  
  
-the end- 


End file.
